


The Body Remembers

by Squeaky



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: ATA Gene, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Head Injury, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Ronon Dex has a potty mouth, SGA Secret Santa 2012, SGA Secret Santa Fic Exchange, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck loves Evan. Evan can't remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexycazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/gifts).



> I'm finally getting around to transferring these fics from my hard drive to the Archive! 
> 
> With _massive_ thanks to [Taste_is_Sweet.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/works) for excellence in beta-ing! She blasted through this baby in record time and, as always, made it so much better. 
> 
> Rated 'Teen' because of Ronon's swearing.
> 
> Originally posted for the (now sadly defunct) [ Stargate Atlantis Secret Santa fic exchange 2012.](http://sga-santa.livejournal.com/) Written for [Sexycazzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/pseuds/sexycazzy/works)
> 
> * * *

It was the slow, steady sound of dripping that nudged him back into consciousness.

He groaned. There was the sharp taste of blood in his mouth. It seemed to take forever for him to open his eyes. 

It took another endless moment for him to make sense of what he was looking at; the world was shadowed in a dark red haze. The constant _drip, drip, drip_ made him dizzy. 

“Evan!” a voice called, edged with panic. 

_I’m here,_ he tried to say, but the blood in his mouth seemed to be weighing down his tongue. He groaned again and let his eyes slide shut against the redness.

“Evan!” the voice said more loudly, and he opened his eyes again. “God damn it! _Evan!_ ”

“M’here,” Evan managed to force out. Whomever was calling him was pretty intent on getting him to answer. 

“Oh thank God,” the voice said, and there was so much relief in the tone that it made Evan feel guilty for making him wait. “I thought…well you probably know what I thought.”

Evan grunted in response, and then spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how to move into a position where he could get off his back. Finally, he was able to roll over and get his hands underneath him. He levered himself onto his hands and knees with his head hanging down. 

His head, which was now exploding with pain. Fat drops of blood splattered off his forehead and landed on the floor beneath him. 

He closed his eyes against the agonizing onslaught. The sound of his dripping blood made him dizzy and brutally nauseous. He vomited.

“Evan!” the man called to him again. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Sure,” Evan muttered, sinking onto his haunches and wiping at his mouth with his hand. He felt marginally better after throwing up. “I hit my head,” he explained, Carefully he wiped the rime of blood from his eyes and blinked them open, wincing in the onslaught of daylight. “Shit,” he breathed. 

He was kneeling in the middle of some kind of structure that had very obviously come crashing down, and apparently landed on his head. A huge piece of the roof had torn away, leaving a jagged hole up to a clear blue sky. “What happened?” he asked the voice as he looked around. He moved his head slowly, but even small movements caused flares of deep, aching pain.

“Left over ordinance from their civil war,” the voice explained. “Dr. Desu tripped over it when he went to repair the scanning filter.” There was a pause, and then his voice grew soft. “I don’t think he survived the blast.” 

Evan closed his eyes in response to the grief he heard in the other man’s voice. Just doing that caused a new wave of dizzying agony to burst in his head.

“Evan, _Evan!_ ” 

Evan opened his eyes. Somehow he had ended up lying on his side against some part of the building, a piece of rebar poked uncomfortably into his hip. “Sorry,” he murmured and carefully got back onto his knees. 

“Don’t _do_ that!” the man yelled at him. “Jesus Evan, I thought you were _dead!_ ”

“Sorry,” he said again, and then with terrific caution, he manoeuvred himself to his feet. The world tilted; greyed, and then snapped back into focus and Evan immediately threw up again. “M’okay,” he said quickly as he wiped at his mouth. He knew the guy was worried about him and he didn’t want to make it worse. 

“Where are you?” he called back, squinting into the dusty shadows. The building was all light and angles and thick pieces of ragged concrete. He had no idea what it looked like when they first arrived. Or how long they’d been there. Or what they’d been doing. Or even where _there_ was. 

“I’m over here, to your left,” the guy called, and Evan turned his body in that direction, trying to move his head and neck as one piece. He could feel the thick trickle of blood as it made its way from somewhere around his temple down the side of his face to drip off his chin. 

It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at, but when he did, he gasped.

The man was half-sitting, half-lying on his back, jammed up against what appeared to be a large piece of the ceiling. The piece had split as it landed and cracked in two. The first piece was behind the man’s back. The second was on his left arm, hiding it from sight from just below the elbow, and leaning solidly against his shoulder, pinning him in place. 

Evan exhaled. “Jesus.” 

“Actually, the pain isn’t too bad,” the guy said. “It’s kind of numb and burning from the shoulder down.” He huffed out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I think that’s a bad sign, eh?” 

The man was about Evan’s age with thick reddish-brown hair and large brown eyes. He was handsome in a quirky way, but his skin was almost bloodless from pain and shock. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a thin trickle of blood pooling around the edge of the stone where it trapped his arm.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there,” Evan said, even while his heart constricted. The piece of ceiling was huge and looked damn heavy. If it had landed even an inch to the right, it would have cleaved through the guy’s ribs and probably crushed him to death. As it was, Evan was totally sure that the man would lose his arm from the shoulder down. 

Presuming they could get him out before he died from loss of blood

“I know you will,” the guy said, looking up at him. “Do you still have your radio? I lost mine in the explosion.” He looked around as if it would miraculously appear near his body. 

Gingerly, Evan reached up to touch his ear. He had always carried his radio on the side that was now injured and all his hand contacted was blood. “It must have been knocked out when I got hit.”

“Damn,” the guy swore. He winced. “I'm sorry. I think it's going to be up to you. I know how much you hate it.” He made a face. “I just wish you didn’t have to.” 

Evan blinked. Maybe it was his concussion, but what the guy said had made no sense. “What?”

The guy looked back at him. “Evan?”

“I think I hit my head really hard,” Evan said.

The guy swallowed. “Leave me. Go get yourself some help.” 

“No.” Evan shook his head and then instantly regretted it. The world swam.

“Evan!” the guy shouted, visibly struggling against the slab of rock that held him. Then he sank back, panting. His face was painfully white. The pool of blood underneath the visible portion of his arm grew larger.

“Don’t move!” Evan ordered him. The pain in his head paled in comparison to how his heart was hammering in his chest, watching the guy struggle. “Please don’t.”

“Yeah, not such a good idea,” the guy gasped. 

‘”I’m sorry,” Evan said. He knelt down by the guy, as close as he could get without actually touching him and potentially causing him pain. The guy was wearing the typical green BDUs and black ballistic vest of a member of one of Stargate Command’s Gate teams, and as per usual any identifying badges had been removed. There was nothing about his features that looked familiar. “What’s your name?”

The guy just looked at him, his eyes huge with disbelief. 

“I’m sorry,” Evan said again. “I can’t remember.”

The guy breathed out sharply. “I’m Chuck,” he said after a moment, “Chuck Campbell. I’m a Gate tech on the City of Atlantis in the Pegasus Galaxy.” He paused and looked at Evan, his dark eyes beseeching. “I’m your husband.”

* * *

“Husband?” Evan repeated. 

“Yes. We’ve been married almost eight months.” Chuck smiled. “I’ll show you the pictures when we get back to Atlantis. But now I need you to get me out of here.” 

Evan could tell that Chuck was trying to be brave, but he could hear the pain in his voice and see beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead and pooling in the hollow of his throat. _Shock,_ he thought. He slowly swivelled his head to look around the room. “I don’t know if there’s actually a way out.” 

“No, from the stone,” Chuck panted. “I really need you to teleport me away from the stone. I’m not sure how much longer I can last here.”

“Teleport?” Evan repeated. 

“Your Power,” Chuck said. “You can teleport.”

Evan shook his head, being careful not to make himself dizzy. “I don’t have a Power.”

“You do,” Chuck insisted, and Evan could hear the note of panic in his voice. “You’ve been able to teleport for as long as I’ve known you.” He swallowed visibly. “It’s the only way to get me out of--.” 

“No,” Evan spoke before Chuck had even finished. “I was born with the ATA gene, but no Power to go with it.” He remembered playing with his sisters when they were growing up, and how envious he’d been of their ability to teleport themselves all over the backyard. He’d never won at their games of hide-and-seek. The family Power was teleportation, but he’d never inherited it. “I remember that I don’t have a Power. I know it.” 

“No,” Chuck said, “it’s not true. You told me. Dr. Beckett gave you gene therapy after you arrived which made your Power work.” He reached out and touched Evan, his free hand contacting with Evan’s wrist. “You have a Power now. I swear.” 

Evan rotated his wrist so that they were holding hands, wanting to offer some comfort. He really wished he had a Power; he would do anything to free Chuck and ease his pain. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The last thing I remember is being told to report to the Ready Room at Stargate Command, to meet a Dr. Weir and talk to her about some kind of long-term mission. I don’t have a Power.” 

Chuck looked at him like he was assessing something. “Listen to me,” he said after a moment. “You have a really bad head injury. You need help. And without your Power, you’re not going to be able to get me out of here. Go get help. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Evan sucked in a breath. The idea of leaving Chuck trapped and in pain was horrendous. “I can’t leave you! I won’t!” He turned and looked frantically for something--anything-- that could help. “I just need something I could use to lever the stone off you—“

“It won’t work,” Chuck interrupted. “You’re a geological engineer. You know what rock is all about, even the man-made kind. There’s no way you’re going to be able to shift this. Not without killing me.” He shook his head. "I can’t get out of here without you using your Power. And if you stay, you’re injury is just going to get worse, and you’ll die! Now will you just get out of here?”

“I want to believe you," Evan said. "I can't tell you how much. But I don't have a Power. I can't teleport. I don't know what to do!” 

Chuck’s eyes widened. “What if I could prove it to you?” he said eagerly. “What if I could prove to you that we’re married? Would you believe me on everything else?”

“I guess,” Evan said. “I guess I would have to, wouldn’t I?”

“Oh thank God,” Chuck breathed. "Take off your shirt."

* * *

Evan blinked. “What?” He looked down at his torso, as if Chuck’s proof would be visible through his ballistic vest. 

“I need you to take off your shirt,” Chuck said. “Please. It's on your body.

“Okay,” Evan said. The Velcro closures of his vest seemed extremely complicated. “Why do I need to take off my shirt?” he asked again. It was so hard to hold on to what Chuck was saying. 

“My Power,” Chuck explained. “I can make images on people’s skin. Permanent images.”

“You make tattoos?” Evan murmured. His fingers fumbled on his vest straps and he cursed at his clumsiness.

“Pretty much,” Chuck agreed, “After we were married, I put one on your rib cage, on the left side of your chest.”

"Okay." Finally Evan undid both shoulder and one side strap, allowing it to slip off his body. He found himself leaning with both hands on the ground, gulping air in pain.

“You okay?” Chuck said, “Evan?”

Chuck’s hand was outstretched, trying to reach him, his brown eyes were dark with fear and concern. 

“Yeah,” Evan said. He took Chuck’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze and then began unbuttoning his shirt. The buttons seemed impossibly small and his fingers felt thick and it seemed to take forever for him to get his shirt unbuttoned all the way so that he could pull it off his shoulders. He was wearing a black t-shirt underneath, and it was partially stuck to his body with blood and sweat. The idea of pulling it off over his head was nearly enough to make him pass out. 

“Just pull it up,” Chuck said, understanding Evan’s hesitation. “You won’t need to take it all the way off to see it.”

“Okay,” Evan said again, and hiked his shirt up high enough to see his torso.

“I told you,” Chuck said quietly.

There was a thick black outline of a stylized tulip on Evan’s side, over his rib-cage, just where Chuck had said it would be. Evan put his hand over it, tracing its lines with his fingers. It felt like his skin, like the ink was somewhere deep underneath. He rubbed at it with his fingertips, scratched at it with his nails, but it stayed put; undamaged and lasting.

“It was our wedding night,” Chuck’s said. “You said that you wanted something better than a wedding ring. Something that couldn’t be lost or stolen and you wanted me to mark you, to give you something permanent.”

“It’s beautiful,” Evan said. His artistic eye could easily see how the curves and arcs of the lines made the tulip look both delicate and sturdy, like it was a living flower on his side. There were a dozen questions racing through his head, like: ‘why a tulip?’ and ‘did you draw it?’ and ‘did it hurt?’ but he knew that now wasn’t the time. 

Chuck looked like he was dying. 

The man’s skin was even paler than before; his head dropping forward, and his eyes half-closed. He was breathing too fast and the collar of his shirt was wet with sweat. Evan could easily see how much the pool of blood under his arm had spread in the last few minutes. 

Evan took his hand. “Chuck,” he said, and he could feel the fear tightening his throat. “Chuck, I believe you. I don’t remember anything that you’re talking about, but I believe.” 

Chuck raised his head and smiled at Evan before letting his head drop again. “S’good,” he slurred.

“Chuck!” Evan cried, “I’m going to try to teleport, but I don’t know how. You need to tell me how to do it.”

Chuck shook his head but didn’t raise it again. “Don’t,” he muttered. “You hate to teleport. Don’t.”

“No,” Evan said. “No. Chuck, you need to listen to me. I want to do this. I _want_ to. But I need your help.”

“I love you,” Chuck murmured. His eyes slid shut.

“No!” Evan shouted, “Chuck!” But Chuck’s eyes stayed closed. 

“Damn it!” Evan moved closer until he could touch Chuck’s neck with the tips of his fingers. Chuck’s heart was still beating, too fast and thready, but still there. “Thank God,” Evan sighed, feeling like he might pass out from relief alone. 

He tightened his grip on Chuck’s hand, cupping it in both of his. He screwed up his eyes and held his breath, concentrating on the idea of moving them both _somewhere else._

Nothing happened. 

“Damn,” Evan muttered again. He took a breath and tried harder, squeezing his eyes shut hard enough to make the pain in his head ratchet up another notch and his stomach to roll unpleasantly. He let his breath out and rubbed at his forehead with one hand. 

“How do I do this?” he said, hearing the sound of tears in his voice. They were trapped, and Chuck was _dying,_ and the only way he could save them both was by using a Power that he couldn’t remember and didn’t really believe he had. 

_“How do you do that?” he had asked his sisters when he was about seven, so full of envy and longing that he thought he might burst with it._

_“I don’t know,” his middle sister had responded with a flip of her hair. “You just think about where you want to be, and then you’re there.”_

“Just think of where you want to be,” Evan repeated. It hadn’t worked when he was seven, but maybe?

_I want to be outside,_ he thought, imagining trees and grass, and a clear blue sky.

He heard a _pop_ and there was a terrible wrenching feeling like someone took his spine and yanked him backwards with it. His consciousness spiralled away and everything went black.

* * *

He woke up in a hospital bed in a room that looked like it had been decorated by steampunk monks. 

“Welcome back, Major,” a man smiled at him. It was obvious by his voice that he wasn’t American, and the combination of the man’s accent and the totally foreign room was so disorienting that Evan squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like his head was still spinning.

“Ach, is your head still hurting you?” The man said. Evan felt a cool touch on his wrist, and then the sensation of a cooler liquid migrating into his arm. “There,” the man said after a moment, “that should make it better.” 

Slowly Evan opened his eyes, taking in the high ceilings with their large, gothic windows. Everything seemed to be in shades of copper; both its shiny brightness and its duller green, with several hues of grey thrown in for good measure. 

He was wearing white scrubs under a white sheet, and there was an IV snaking its way into the back of his hand. Gingerly, he reached up to touch his wound, but his scalp was unmarred save for a tender spot that made him wince when he brushed it with his fingertips.

“No worries, lad, I healed you right up without a trace of a scar,” the man said with a grin. “You’re as handsome as you ever were.” 

“Thank you,” Evan said absently. He could feel the drug winding its way through his system, taking some of his tension with it, as well as the remnants of a headache he hadn’t quite realized was there. He looked up at the man who was still smiling down at him. He had a boyishly handsome face, his eyes were blue and he seemed kind. But Evan didn’t recognize him. 

And somehow that thought reminded him. “Where’s Chuck?” he said, struggling to sit up. 

“Easy,” the man said, slipping an arm behind his back and helping him into a sitting position. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days. It won’t be good if you move too fast.” 

“Chuck?” Evan asked again, looking around the room for any trace of the man he’d been injured with. He remembered teleporting out of the collapsed building while clutching Chuck’s hand, but nothing more.

“Your husband’s fine, Evan,” the man said. “As bad as it looked, his arm was actually much easier to heal than the damage you’d managed to do to your head.” He tapped at the device in his right ear. “Should I call him?”

Evan froze at the word, ‘husband,’ and stared at the other man. He’d thought maybe he’d dreamt that part of the conversation with Chuck. 

“Ah,” the man said to himself as he sank down to sit on a stool that had been placed by Evan’s bed. “The sergeant mentioned this. Tell me, lad,” he said gently, “what do you remember about this place?”

Evan shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t remember anything.” 

The man pondered him for a bit. “I’m Doctor Beckett,” he said finally. “And you’re in the infirmary in the city of Atlantis.” He must have seen something in Evan’s face because he continued: “You’re safe here, Evan. You’re among friends.” 

Evan swallowed. “I remember everything in my life up to getting ready to meet a Dr. Weir in the Ready Room at Stargate Command.” He forced himself to smile. “I guess I’m not there, huh?”

“I’m afraid not.” Dr. Beckett smiled back. “That memory sounds like it may have been from about two or three years ago. I’ll have to ask Colonel Sheppard to confirm when you arrived.” 

“Colonel Sheppard?” Evan said. “Is he the base commander?”

“Yes,” Dr. Beckett agreed. “Do you remember him?”

“No.” Evan shook his head. “I guessed from his rank.” 

“Fair enough,” Dr. Beckett said. He moved his hand towards his earpiece again. “Would it be alright if I told Chuck that you were awake? I know he’d like to visit.” 

Evan felt a sudden flare of panic. “I--“

“It’s okay lad,” Dr. Beckett said, dropping his hand again. “Maybe later?”

Evan shook his head roughly. He wasn’t used to feeling like this: frightened and uncertain. He forced himself to look Dr. Beckett in the eye. “No,” he said. “It’s okay if he comes by.” 

Dr. Beckett eyed him warily, but didn’t call him on the lie. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Evan said, with more conviction than he felt. “Maybe seeing Chuck will help with my memories.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Beckett agreed. “Although most likely your memory will just return on its own. But seeing a familiar face can’t hurt--even if you don’t know it’s familiar.”

Evan smiled. “I guess.”

Dr. Beckett was still eying him. “I’ll stay close by,” he said. “And I’ll make sure that Chuck knows how tired you are and that it shouldn’t be a long visit.” 

“Thanks,” Evan said, grateful for both the Doctor’s tact and understanding. He didn’t quite understand it himself, but the idea of seeing Chuck felt overwhelming.

* * *

Chuck appeared almost immediately after Dr. Beckett paged him, like he had been waiting somewhere close by for news. 

To his surprise, Evan felt himself relax when Chuck appeared. He still had no recollection of the brown-eyed man, save for the horrific images of him trapped under the piece of the building, but there was something so open about Chuck’s face that Evan felt instantly at ease. 

“Hey,” Chuck said quietly as he approached the bed. He extended his hand like he was going to touch Evan, but then drew back. His mobile face changed expression from one of pure happiness to wary uncertainty.

“Hi,” Evan said. 

“So, feeling better?” Chuck asked. He was smiling again but the trepidation was still there.

“I guess. I guess it’s good that I’m awake.” Evan smiled at him. “Dr. Beckett says I was unconscious for a while.”

“Three days,” Chuck said. “And that was after he healed you.” 

Evan didn’t know what to say to that. Chuck’s expression was pained, like seeing Evan unconscious had physically hurt him. It wasn’t something Evan wanted to think about. He gestured at Chuck’s left arm with his chin. “You okay?”

“Oh,” Chuck said, glancing down at the cast wrapped around his forearm. “Carson said I’ll need this for at least another few weeks. Just to make sure everything’s healing the way it should.” 

Evan let out a sigh of relief. “I thought you were going to lose the arm.”

“Me too,” Chuck smiled ruefully. “My shoulder, collar bone and forearm were all broken by that slab. Luckily Carson can heal people with his Power. Not all the way, obviously,” he illustrated by raising his casted arm, “but far enough that our bodies can take over for the rest of the way. My shoulder’s still stiff though, and I have several more sessions of physio lined up before I’m back on active duties.” He rotated his arm upwards, wincing as it reached the apex. “Yup.” He grinned. “Still sore.” 

Evan grinned back, but felt his smile falter when he saw the glint of a gold wedding band on Chuck’s ring finger. _Husband._ he thought, and then pushed it away. “Carson is Doctor Beckett?” he asked after a moment.

“Oh, yeah,” Chuck said. “Sorry.” He looked crushed. “I guess you still can’t…”

Evan shook his head. “No. I still can’t remember anything that happened after I got here.” He indicated all of Atlantis with a sweep of his hand.

“Oh,” Chuck said quietly. He smiled again, but this time Evan could see that it was forced. “I was kinda hoping.…” He let the sentence trail off and shrugged. “Well.” He looked away.

“Me too,” Evan agreed. 

They stayed silent for a minute, with Evan studiously avoiding looking at Chuck while the other man brought his emotions back under control. 

“I guess I should—“

“Did you want—“

They both started speaking at the same time and then they both chuckled. “Go ahead,” Evan said, gesturing for Chuck to speak first. 

“Okay,” Chuck said. He took a breath. “Did you want me to ask Carson if you could come home tonight?” he said in a rush. “I mean, there’s no pressure, but it might be more comfortable than sleeping here.” He tapped on the bedrail with his palm.

It was right on the tip of Evan’s tongue to say "no", that it was too soon for him to do that. But the look of desperate longing on Chuck’s face made him change his mind. _He’s your husband!_ he reminded himself fiercely. At some point within the last two years he had trusted this man enough to commit to him for life. Just because it felt like he’d be going home with a stranger didn’t mean it was _true._ “Okay,” Evan said instead, feeling his heart speed up in his chest. “I guess I could.” 

“Great!” Chuck beamed. But he must have seen the concern in Evan’s eyes, because his smile dropped. “But, if you’re not ready—“

“It’s okay,” Evan said quickly. He hated the anguish in Chuck’s face, especially knowing that he was the cause. He smiled. “It’s not like you’re going to murder me in my sleep.”

If anything, Chuck’s expression grew even more pained. “I would never hurt you,” he said. 

“I know,” Evan replied, just as seriously. And even though he still didn’t remember, he knew it was true.

* * *

“So, welcome to chez nous,” Chuck said grandly, gesturing at the open door. “I’d carry you over the threshold, but my arm’s broken.” He grinned widely at Evan, clearly pleased to finally have him home.

Carson had made Evan spend one more night in the infirmary and nearly a full day, much to Evan’s relief and Chuck’s disappointment. But by the next evening, Carson had decided that Evan was fine to return to their living quarters.

“But only if you’re fine with it,” Carson had said before Chuck arrived that morning. “I’ll not let anyone drag you anywhere you don’t feel comfortable.” 

“Thanks,” Evan had replied, heartened by Carson’s willingness to help him. “But at this point, doc, I don’t think there’s anywhere on Atlantis where I’d actually feel comfortable.” 

“Fair enough,” Carson had agreed, and he’d called Chuck to come and get him.

Evan stepped through the open door, as vigilant and cautious as if he were travelling through the Gate to an unknown world. As he’d feared, their quarters didn’t look familiar. 

Chuck clearly sensed his discomfort, and went out of his way to give Evan the grand tour, even going so far as to open and close all the cupboards and closets in the kitchen and their living room so Evan could see where everything was kept. 

“It’s nice,” Evan said admiringly. The colours and furnishings were the type that he’d always liked, and while he might have arranged the furniture a little bit differently, he could tell that this was a place where he probably had felt very comfortable at some point. He turned to smile at Chuck, feeling some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. “I like it.”

“Oh, good,” Chuck said, returning his smile. “Because it would’ve been awkward if you’d hated it, considering you practically decorated the whole place.” 

“But you arranged the furniture,” Evan said, moving to study a framed picture on the wall. 

“Yes,” Chuck said, sounding surprised. “I did arrange it! Do you remember that?”

Evan glanced back at him, and realized too late that Chuck had taken his statement to mean his memories were returning. “Sorry,” he said. “I just figured it out from where the couch was placed.”

“Oh,” Chuck said, clearly disappointed. “Well, you’re right. I did put it there.” His expression turned earnest. “Did you want me to move it?”

“Its fine,” Evan said quickly. “I like it there. It’s good.” He didn’t actually know if he liked it there or not. His aesthetic sense told him that it didn’t balance the room properly, but maybe there was a good reason for the couch being there that he just couldn’t remember. 

“It was too long for the far wall,” Chuck said, as if reading his thoughts. 

“Oh,” Evan said, “Thanks.” 

“Are you looking at the picture?” Chuck said after the silence stretching between them had become overpowering.

The painting in front of him was of the City of Atlantis. “I like it,” he said after a moment. “I like the use of colour and the way the artist has depicted the movement of the ocean with so few brushstrokes. The use of light and texture makes the city seem like its timeless, part of the world but not.” He turned back to Chuck, “Someone here must have painted it, because who else would know about Atlantis?” He grinned. “So who’s the artist?”

Chuck didn’t return his smile. “You.”

“Oh,” Evan said. He turned back to the painting, unsure how to respond to the realization he didn’t even recognize his own art. “So I guess I didn’t give up painting when I joined the expedition,” he murmured to himself. That was comforting, at least, even if he couldn’t remember it. 

He heard Chuck sigh. “You hungry?”

“Yes,” Evan agreed immediately. He wasn’t really hungry, but it was as good a reason as any to get them away from the topic of his amnesia. He turned towards the kitchen, then frowned. “Do I cook?”

“Sometimes.” Chuck smirked. “But I’m better.” 

“Not with that cast, I’ll bet.” Evan smiled. “How ‘bout you tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Deal,” Chuck grinned back at him, and warmth bloomed in Evan’s chest. He liked being able to make Chuck smile. It lit up his dark eyes and made him look really attractive. But best of all, it made Evan feel good. He suddenly realized he was staring and he blushed, turning away. _He’s your husband,_ he reminded himself, but it still felt like he was getting too personal with a stranger.

Chuck cleared his throat. “Spaghetti?”

“My favourite,” Evan agreed readily, because it was.

* * *

Dinner was much less awkward than Evan had feared. Chuck had gone out of his way to ensure the conversation stayed on topics that didn’t concern the time Evan had lost, and he’d instead shared several stories from his own past and when he’d first come to work with Stargate Command. 

Evan figured that he’d probably heard all of the stories before, but it was a relief to learn something about Chuck without having to ask directly. And it turned out Chuck was a great storyteller, and really funny. And with a sense of relief, Evan realized that he actually _liked_ Chuck; that at the very least, he knew they could be friends. 

“So, you’re with the Canadian Armed Forces?” Evan said as he twirled a bite of spaghetti.

“I started out with Armoured, but transferred to the Air Force when I realized it would help me get out of New Brunswick,” Chuck explained. He took a sip of his glass of water. “I was so _bored_ there. It seemed so small, and I really wanted to see the world.”

“Or the universe,” Evan said, hoisting his glass towards him. Chuck laughed.

“Man, if I’d know I’d end up here when I signed up at eighteen…” Chuck shook his head. “Crazy, eh?”

“Oh yeah,” Evan agreed. “I remember I joined up because they were going to pay for my university and I chose the air force because I wanted to fly planes.” He shrugged. “Geology and flying seemed like a reasonable combination at the time.” 

“I remember you telling me that on our first date.” Chuck smiled, then he seemed to realize what he said and his smile immediately fell off his face. “I—I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t worry,” Evan said, although it suddenly felt like his meal had congealed in his stomach. “I’m just sorry that I’m repeating myself.” 

“I don’t mind,” Chuck said sincerely. 

“I do.” Evan sighed. He poked at his plate.

“Hey, it’ll get better,” Chuck said, putting his hand on Evan’s wrist.

Evan moved so that they weren’t touching. “You don’t know that.” 

“Carson said—“

“I _know_ what Carson said,” Evan snapped, “but my memories aren’t back yet, are they?”

“It’s early days yet,” Chuck said placatingly. “You only got out of the infirmary today.” 

“But I’m _here_ ,” Evan said, gesturing around the room. “Back in familiar surroundings, but nothing’s familiar! _Nothing!_ ” 

“I’m sure it will come back,” Chuck said. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

“This isn’t my home. _I’m not home!_ ” Evan barked. “If this was my home, _I’d remember!_ ” He stomped away from the table and ended up on the balcony, looking out over the water, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the railing. 

“Carson did say it could take a while,” Chuck said quietly as he came up behind him. 

Evan grit his teeth but he didn’t turn around. “I know what Carson said,” he spat, “I was there.”

He heard Chuck take a breath. “I know. But I just wanted you to remember –“

“I _don’t_ remember!” Evan shouted, “I don’t remember _anything!_ ” 

“I know,” Chuck tried to mollify him, “and I know how hard this must be for you—“

“And how would you know that?” Evan turned on him. He knew that he was probably being unfair, that Chuck just wanted to help, but he’d spent the _whole day_ trying to pretend that it was fine. That _he_ was fine, and he just couldn’t do it anymore. “Since when do you know what I think?”

“We’ve been together for almost two years,” Chuck said, “I know a lot about you.”

“ _Well I don’t know you!_ ” Evan yelled, “ _so don’t even try to pretend you know how I feel!_ ”

He saw Chuck visibly get his anger under control. “You’re frustrated,” he said finally, “and probably tired. Maybe we should just go to bed.”

“What?” Evan started, “together?”

Chuck was taken aback. “No – I mean, not if you don’t want.”

“I don’t sleep with strangers,” Evan snarled.

“Okay,” Chuck said slowly. 

He looked like Evan had slapped him, and Evan felt something twist inside. He rubbed his face, trying to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said finally. 

“It’s okay,” Chuck said sadly. “I probably do seem like a stranger to you.” 

“No—“ Evan started, but then he stopped, wincing. “Well, not _totally,_ ” he amended after a moment. “You did tell me about your crazy aunt.” He joked, trying to lighten the expression on Chuck’s face. 

Chuck smiled, but he still looked sad. “You take the bedroom,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Evan shook his head. “My arm’s not broken.” 

“You’re always such a gentleman,” Chuck said “It’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you.” He put his hand on Evan’s shoulder for just a second, and then went back into the apartment. “But I’m still sleeping on the couch,” he called over his shoulder.

Evan put his hand over the tulip under his shirt, wishing he could remember.

* * *

“Good workout today,” Ronon said, coming to stand beside Evan in the change room.

Evan looked over at the larger man, feeling his cheeks heat. He’d been standing in front of the mirror with his shirt off, looking at the tattoo Chuck had formed into his skin. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Your memory might be shit, but you haven’t lost any of your fighting skill,” Ronon said, wiping at this face with his towel. “If your shooting’s still good, you should get back to work.” 

“Sergeant Bates tested me this morning,” Evan said, frowning at the blunt reference to his amnesia. He resisted the urge to cover the tattoo with his hands, even though it felt too personal and private for Ronon to see. “He said there was no problem with my weapons firing. But then again, I learned how to shoot long before I got here.” He and scooped his T-shirt off the counter. 

“But you’re still a good stick fighter,” Ronon said. “And Teyla’s the one who taught you that.” He turned to look in the mirror and tightened the string around his dreds. “The body remembers what the mind doesn’t,” he said. “You might not remember stick fighting in your head, but the memory is still in here.” He tapped his chest. 

“That makes sense,” Evan said. “Otherwise there’s no way I could’ve kept you from beating the crap out of me.” 

Ronon laughed. “Oh yeah.” He turned from the mirror to look at Evan directly. “So, I sign you off, you’re back on active duty. That cool with you?”

Evan thought about it in the time it took for him to pull the T-shirt over his head. “Yeah,” he said as he straightened the shirt over his torso. “I think I’d like that.” 

“Good,” Ronon replied gruffly. “You’re too good a soldier to waste away here.” 

“Thanks,” Evan grinned. “I appreciate the compliment.”

“It’s the truth.” Ronon shrugged. “Besides, Sheppard wants you back. Sooner the better.”

“I’d like to start up again,” Evan said, realizing he meant it. It had been hard waiting around to get clearance to go back to his regular duties. While he understood Dr. Beckett’s caution, it was tough not having anything to do but get re-familiarized with his team, the workings of the City and sparring and target practice. It left far too much time for him to be in his quarters, with all of the reminders of what he couldn’t remember. 

Ronon’s words broke Evan out of his musings. “Chuck do that flower?”

Evan’s hand automatically went to cover the tattooed area even though it was now under his shirt. “Yeah.” he nodded. He felt his face heat again.

“Thought I recognized his style,” Ronon said. “Man does good work.”

“He does,” Evan said, although he realized his tulip was the only example he could remember seeing. 

“Yep,” Ronon said and pulled off his shirt. He pointed to a tattoo that circled his right upper arm, showing a complex design of rose-like flowers entwined with thorny stems. “Chuck did that for me.”

“Wow,” Evan said, impressed. The flowers looked both beautiful and vicious at the same time. “That’s amazing.” 

“ _Yenna_ flowers,” Ronon said. “They’re really pretty, but the thorns are deadly.” He grinned. “Like me.” 

Evan laughed. “Chuck really likes flowers.” 

“He tattoos other stuff too,” Ronon said cryptically. He eyed him. “You having sex with him yet?”

Evan’s surprise wasn’t feigned. “What?”

“I see the way the two of you circle around each other,” Ronon said, dropping his shirt on a corner of the sink. “You act like wild cats who don’t know whether or not to fuck or fight.” He turned on the sink. “So, you figure out which one it is?”

“I—“ Evan started, then took a breath. “I don’t even know how to answer that.”

Ronon started washing his face with the water. “Seems to me that you should figure out what you want from Chuck now, before someone decides for you.” 

Evan's eyes narrowed at Ronon’s words. “What?”

“Chuck’s really hot,” Ronon said. He dried his face with his towel and rubbed it on his back. He shrugged. “I’d fuck him.” 

The flare of anger made Evan’s tone harsh: “Don’t even think about it.” 

Ronon’s smile was feral. “Way I see it, if you can’t remember your marriage vows, they don’t count.” 

“Chuck’s _mine,_ ” Evan growled. “And don’t forget it!” 

“You’re the one who’s forgotten,” Ronon said, grabbing his t-shirt off the counter. “And now you can’t even see what’s in front of you. I’d have to be crazy not to want to take advantage of that.” He started to walk towards the exit, but then turned to smirk at Evan. “Maybe I’ll get Chuck to put my next tattoo on my ass,” and then left.

Evan stood there, his hands clenched into fists, the image of Chuck’s hands on Ronon’s ass burning like a brand in his mind. “Over my dead body!” he vowed into the empty room. He took a breath. _Home,_ he thought. There was a sound like the _pop_ of a cork, and he was gone.

* * *

“Holy shit!” Chuck swore as Evan materialized in their living room.

Evan immediately dropped to his knees, gagging. It felt like his stomach had been turned inside out and then used to cut his spine in half. 

Chuck was beside him in an instant, holding his shoulders and helping to support his weight. “Are you okay?”

Evan nodded, breathing deeply until his nausea had faded to a tolerable level. Slowly he dragged himself to his feet.

“What was that all about?” Chuck said as he helped Evan to stand up. “Teleporting always makes you feel sick. Wasn’t the transporter fast enough?”

It was on the tip of Evan's tongue to ask him if he was attracted to Ronon, if Chuck would rather be with the Sadatan fighter than his amnesic husband. “I want you to put another tattoo on me,” he said instead.

Chuck’s eyes grew wide. “You do?”

The image of the tattoo around Ronon’s bicep appeared in Evan’s head and he felt a surge of jealousy so strong that the edges of his vision went red. His hands clamped into fists. “I want another tattoo,” he repeated. “Now.”

Chuck looked at him. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“I just want something!” Evan spat. “Something that belongs to us! Something I can remember!”

Chuck crossed his arms, looking coolly at Evan. "No."

“Why not?” Evan demanded. Even he could hear that he sounded petulant. “You tattooed me before. What’s the big deal?”

“The first tattoo was for our _wedding,_ ” Chuck said archly. “A symbol of our commitment. What’s this one going to be? A symbol of your frustration?”

Evan took in his husband. He was standing with his arms crossed, glaring at Evan. He looked sharp and strong and definitely like someone Evan would want to call his own. _Chuck’s hot,_ Ronon had said in the change room, and Evan agreed. 

“Fuck it,” Evan muttered. And he put his hands on either side of Chuck’s head, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Chuck melted against Evan, his mouth opening and his arms wrapping around Evan’s shoulders. Their bodies were so close together that Evan could feel the rise and fall of Chuck’s chest as he breathed, the way his cock hardened against him. Evan let his hands roam up Chuck's back to fist in his hair, which felt as thick and soft as Evan had imagined. Then he felt the lines of Chuck’s shoulders, then down his back. Chuck’s body was all long, lean muscle, like a runner; slight but by no means delicate. Evan cupped Chuck's ass and pulled him closer. 

Chuck made a noise deep in his throat and kissed Evan harder, and suddenly Evan’s shirt was gone. Chuck undid the ties of Evan’s sweatpants, and hooked his thumbs under the waistband. The material of his cast scraped gently against Evan’s skin. Chuck pulled back, panting.

Evan leaned forward to kiss him again, but Chuck moved his head. “Evan,” he said. “Evan, no. Wait.”

“’Kay,” Evan said after a moment, he felt high; drunk from kissing Chuck and all he wanted to do was more.

“Are we going to do this?” Chuck said, his hands still at Evan’s waist. 

Evan looked at Chuck and knew that wanted him. But he could tell that Chuck wouldn’t touch him if Evan wasn’t ready. Chuck had called Evan a gentleman, but it was Chuck who had been brave and noble beyond compare. _You can’t even see what’s in front of you,_ Ronon had said to Evan, but he was wrong. 

“I want you,” Evan said. “I want you now.”

* * *

Afterwards, they lay naked together on the big bed in their bedroom, Chuck’s head pillowed on Evan’s chest. 

Evan lay with his eyes closed, one hand behind his head, feeling more relaxed and content than he could remember. He realized what he’d thought and chuckled.

“What?” Chuck murmured; his lips against Evan’s skin. 

“Just thinking that I’m more relaxed now than I can ever remember being,” he said.

“Clearly you don’t remember us having sex before,” Chuck said, and Evan could feel the smile on his lips. Chuck reached out and traced the outline of the tulip on Evan’s side. There was a slight burning sensation for a moment where Chuck touched him, but then Evan shifted and it was gone.

“What if I never remember?” Evan said into the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “What if I never get those two years back?”

Chuck paused in his tracing. “Then I guess we get to know each other all over again.” 

Evan blinked. “What?”

“Look,” Chuck said, propping himself up on one elbow so that he was looking at Evan’s face. “I know how strange this must be for you, that there’s two years of history that you can’t remember. But before that, before we made that history, we had to get to know each other.” His teeth gleamed in the low light as he smiled. “It seemed to go well the first time.”

Evan tilted his head, thinking about what Chuck had said. “But what if I’m different now?” He murmured. “What if you don’t like who I am when I can’t remember anything?”

“Is that why you’ve been so reluctant to be with me?” Chuck asked. “Because you’ve been worried about it?”

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “Probably.” He sighed. “I just feel so—“

“Not yourself,” Chuck finished for him. “But you’re still you,” he said. “I promise.” 

“I’m me but with a big hole in my memories,” Evan said bitterly. He touched his side where Chuck’s tattoo lay. “You said that you put my tattoo there on our wedding night, but I don’t remember it. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does.” Chuck nodded. “Of _course_ I wish you’d never been hit on the head. You don’t know what you looked like in that building! You were stumbling around, barely conscious, blood pouring down your face—“ Chuck stopped and took a shuddering breath. 

“It’s okay,” Evan soothed. He reached up and gently pulled Chuck down to him, so Chuck’s head was once again resting on his chest. “I’m okay.” He shoved down the image of Chuck trapped under the slab of rock, looking like he was dying. He shifted until Chuck's head was tucked underneath his chin. 

“I thought you were going to die,” Chuck said quietly. “So, you forgetting a tattoo of a tulip? Not so bad.”

“Well, when you put it that way....” Evan said, making his voice light. Chuck’s smirked. 

They rested that way for a while, Evan revelling in the feel of Chuck against him, the warmth and strength of his body feeling totally right in his arms. _The body remembers what the mind doesn’t,_ Ronon had told him. It was true.

“The tulip is for my name,” Chuck said into the hush between them.

“Your name?” Evan repeated.

“Uh huh,” Chuck said. “Charles means ‘freedom,’ and ever since the Canadian Army liberated the Netherlands at the end of the Second World War, tulips have been a shared symbol of freedom between our two countries. So it was a symbol of me, my country and my military service all at once,” he said. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Very.” Evan smiled. “No wonder I wanted it.” 

He felt Chuck swallow. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted another one?”

Evan licked his lips. The powerful jealousy he had felt towards Ronon was gone, but the idea of having Chuck give him another tattoo still felt compelling. “Where would you put it?”

Chuck sat up, and Evan shifted until he was leaning against the headboard. “Where do you want it?” Chuck asked.

Evan thought of the ring of flowers around Ronon’s bicep. “What about here?” he said, touching the same spot on his left arm.

Chuck tilted his head, considering. “It’s never been my favourite place,” he said, and Evan felt an irrational rush of glee at the thought that Chuck might not actually like Ronon’s tattoo. “But if you want it there—“

“No, no, anywhere you think is fine,” Evan said quickly, but he couldn’t help grinning. 

“What about your leg?” Chuck said, putting his hand on Evan’s thigh. “I’ve always thought your legs were hot.” His smile was highly suggestive.

“My hip?” Evan said, pointing.

Chuck shook his head. “It’ll be too close to the tulip if I put it on the left side. I could put it on your right…” He paused, then looked back at Evan’s right bicep. “Although, you have really beautiful arms, Ev. I could put it there.”

“You sure?” Evan frowned. “If you don’t like it—“

“I’ll like it,” Chuck’s smile was almost shy. “It’ll be on you.” 

“Okay,” Evan said. He lifted his arm, trying to imagine a design banded around it. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Just rest your wrist on my shoulder,” Chuck said, shifting to his knees. “And then don’t look.”

“What about your cast?” Evan said, realizing that Chuck was stabilizing his wrist with his broken arm. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Chuck said. “It’s fine. Don’t look!”

“Don’t look?” Evan repeated. “Does me looking interfere with your Power?”

Chuck laughed. “If you look, it won’t be a surprise.” 

“Oh,” Evan said as Chuck gently shifted the position of his arm. He forced his muscles to relax. “Will it hurt?”

“Not as much as a building landing on you.” Chuck smirked at him, and Evan felt the cool touch of Chuck’s fingertips against his skin. “Now try to stay still.” 

Evan took a deep breath and didn’t move.

* * *

Evan remembered his first tattoo. It was large enough to encompass the entire side of his left upper arm, going right up to his shoulder. The tattoo artist in downtown San Francisco had warned him it would hurt, but until the needle started pounding into his flesh, Evan hadn’t known how much. It had made him sweat and bite his lip to keep from crying _stop, stop, stop!_ and leaving with the design half-finished. 

He fully expected Chuck’s Power to work the same way, and his left hand was gripping the bed sheets, braced for the pain.

Only, what Chuck was doing couldn’t be described as pain. It felt as if Chuck was _shifting_ something beneath Evan’s skin: sliding things around so that it felt tight and uncomfortable, but nothing intolerable. Like the feeling of a sunburn or the sting of a paper cut; Evan didn't think he'd want to repeat it anytime soon, but he could deal with it while it happened. 

Chuck hummed to himself as he worked, sometimes gently moving Evan’s arm one way or another to access all angles. Evan watched the play of light across Chuck’s face; the way the long shadows of dusk moved across the edges of his cheeks and shone highlights into his eyes. 

“I missed you,” Evan said quietly, his voice rough with the depth of his emotion.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Chuck murmured back. He shot Evan a quick, happy glance, before turning back to his arm. “Almost done.”

Evan smiled. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard, letting the sensations of Chuck’s Power wash through him and his mind go comfortably blank. He could feel the strange slides and shifts of Chuck’s power, and he smiled at the familiar sensation. Absently, he put his hand over the tulip design on his side, tracing it with his thumb. And all at once, it was like something _shifted_ in his mind.

“All done,” Chuck said triumphantly as he lifted Evan’s wrist off his shoulder. “You can look now.” 

Evan stared at him, his eyes huge. 

Chuck blinked. “Don’t you want to look?”

“Chuck,” Evan breathed. It felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, like he’d just run a marathon.

“Yes?” Chuck said, the same puzzled look on his face. “You okay?”

“It was a Sunday,” Evan said, his eyes still wide. “Elizabeth gave just about everyone the day off so they could come to the wedding. We held it outside on the East Pier, and Halling, Teyla’s friend, acted as the officiate. We both wore our Blues and Sheppard was my best man.” 

“That’s right,” Chuck said, and his eyes grew as wide as Evan’s. “How do you know that?”

“I remember!” Evan exclaimed, and then burst out laughing, “I _remember!_ ” 

“Oh my God,” Chuck gasped. “Your memories? They’re back?” 

“I think so.” Evan nodded. “While you were giving me the tattoo, they all just returned.” 

“Our first date?” Chuck asked, smiling widely.

“A quick dinner in the mess, and then back to your place,” Evan replied immediately.

Chuck grinned. “Where did I propose?” 

“The East Pier,” Evan said. “Which is why we chose it for the ceremony.” He laughed again. “I know this! Chuck, I remember!” Suddenly he frowned. “Wait. Are Ronon and Jennifer dating?”

“They got engaged about a month ago,” Chuck said, looking at him quizzically. “I gave him a _Yenna_ flower tattoo as an engagement present. Jennifer got one, too. She wanted a caduceus on her lower back decorated with the same flowers. I think you knew that.”

“I think I did too,” Evan shook his head ruefully. “But I think Ronon knew I'd forgotten.” He smiled at Chuck, knowing he’d have to explain later. “I’ll have to say thanks to him next time I see him.” 

“You always liked the tattoo I gave him,” Chuck said. “So I made you one like it.” He gestured at Evan’s arm. “Did you want to see?”

“Yeah,” Evan said, moving his arm so that he could see his bicep. Chuck had made a ring of delicate, five-petaled flowers around his arm in intricate, interlocking chains, artfully shadowed in black and white. If anything, it was even more beautiful than the tulip on his rib cage. 

“Do you like it?” Chuck’s tone was uncertain.

“I love it,” Evan said honestly. Just as with Ronon’s tattoo, it conveyed beauty and strength all at once. “You’re a real artist.” 

“Thanks,” Chuck said. “I wanted it to match the first one I did for you.” 

“It does,” Evan agreed, still admiring the tattoo on his arm. “What kind of flowers are they?”

“Forget-me-nots,” Chuck said. He shrugged at Evan’s surprised look. “I thought they were appropriate.” 

Evan took Chuck’s hands in his own, the cast rough against his palm. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.” 

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” Chuck said. “But I put my name into the tulip design, just in case.” 

Evan immediately looked down at the tattoo on his ribs. As Chuck had said, he could now see a small _Chuck Campbell_ written in extravagant calligraphy on one of the tulip’s innermost petals. Evan laughed. “That’s probably a good idea.” 

“I should have done it months ago,” Chuck said, leaning in to kiss him. “You’d never have forgotten me then.” 

“Forget me not,” Evan murmured into Chuck’s mouth, and then he forgot everything else but the feel of his husband in his arms. 

END


End file.
